Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
“Look who’s here!” Grandma Lois is beaming from ear to ear from her spot on the couch, where she is covered in a blanket. It looks like she might have fallen asleep and only woke up because we walked in.
“Yeah, look what the cat dragged in, right?” Emma smirks up at us. “I’m pretty tired. I think I might go straight to my room.”
Lois stretches, then sighs. “I’m feeling a little worn out myself tonight. There’s plenty of food in the fridge, or I could heat up soup and biscuits.”
“Why don’t you get your rest, and we’ll take care of that?” I offer. “Have you eaten? I’ve been known to heat up a mean can of soup.”
“You are too charming for my own good,” she chides, shaking a finger and everything. “But no, thank you, I had a heavy lunch. I only wanted to stay out here to be around for Emma if she needs help.”
“We’ll take care of that,” Easton offers. “You go ahead.”
I would back him up, but there’s a framed photo on the wall over the couch that’s caught my eye. A wedding photo, the bride and groom smiling wide. She has Emma’s eyes and button nose.
“My parents.” Emma notices me staring and now she stares with me. “Mom’s wearing her pearls. Look familiar?” Sure enough, there’s the necklace. She doesn’t sound angry or like she wants to rub it in. She’s tired. Sad.
“Did you find all of the pearls?” I ask as she turns toward the hallway.
“No, there were definitely some I didn’t find. But I grabbed most of them.” When we reach her bedroom, she opens a small jewelry box on her dresser and pulls out a velvet drawstring bag, shaking it gently so I can hear the whisper of the pearls inside before putting it away. My chest gets tight when I remember her crawling around because of my stupid, clumsy mistake.
“Do you usually go straight to sleep?” Easton asks, sitting on the bed. “When we don’t show up for lasagna?”
“Usually, yeah. I end up spending the rest of the night in bed, watching movies on my laptop.” The sigh she lets out when she sits tells me she doesn’t have much left in her.
“What do you need? What can we get for you?” I need to feel useful. I can’t shake the memory of the necklace. Those pearls meant a lot to her and her mom, and she had to watch them scatter all over the sidewalk.
She must really feel like shit, because for once, she doesn’t argue. “There are cans of ginger ale in the fridge and crackers in the pantry. That would be good. And if you guys are hungry,” she adds as we leave the room, “help yourself to whatever. Grandma won’t mind.”
It’s Emma I care about now. Fuck, I can’t remember the last time I did anything like this. Taking care of somebody. Meanwhile, she had to take care of her grandma and a house and the bills and all that. This is the least she deserves.
The very least. It isn’t enough.
By the time we return to the bedroom with the crackers and soda, plus a bag of chips for me and Easton to snack on, Emma is dressed in a nightgown and is halfway through climbing into bed. “Mind if we hang around?” Easton asks. “We could watch a movie. Get you anything you need.”
She bites her lip but gives in quickly. “Sure. Just don’t expect much out of me. I’ll probably fall asleep.”
While Easton skims through movies to watch, I help her get comfortable in the middle of the bed with pillows behind her head. It gets me thinking. “Do you sleep in your wig?”
A frown creases her forehead before she grunts. “Not usually. But…”
“Do whatever it takes to be comfortable. For real,” I urge, looking at my brother.
“Definitely,” he agrees. “Take it off. I’m not scared of a bald head.”
It takes a handful of slow, deep breaths to give her the courage to do it, but she does. That’s what matters. She trusts us enough to slowly peel the wig away.
God, she’s beautiful. I would rather cut out my tongue than say it—I know how she would take it, and it wouldn’t be pretty. That doesn’t change how my heart stutters and my mouth goes dry while she leans over to place the wig on a stand next to the bed. She’s so beautiful. So much stronger and fiercer than I ever could have imagined when we first met.
But even the strongest people need help. Protection. And when she falls asleep between us with her head touching my shoulder, it hits me that she trusts us both enough to let us help her a little.
There’s no real reason why I should feel so damn proud as my eyes start to close and sleep pulls me under, but I do.